


The Argent Knight Redeemed

by imaginary_golux



Series: La Vie de Finn [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arthurian, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Once and Future King, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8580592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: Inspired, in part, by this kink meme prompt:

  Phasma is looking for redemption. Finn is looking for a bodyguard.


  I'm good with futurefic, but knight AU is nice too. Just so long as Phasma swears fealty to Finn, and Finn (suspiciously? gleefully? nervously?) accepts.

This is part three of La Vie de Finn.
Beta, as always, by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	

“Say that again?” Finn says, looking up from the heap of parchments in front of him. He’d been reading Rey’s latest report from her progress, which is blunt to the point of rudeness and utterly delightful, just like his wife, and the herald’s words had sort of slid over his mind, but he could have sworn the man said -

“Lady Knight Phasma of the First Order has presented herself to beg a boon of you, sire,” the herald says again, patiently. Finn blinks at him.

“Lady Knight Phasma,” he says blankly. “Tall woman. Very pale. Silver armor. Looks like she could bench-press a gryffin.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the herald confirms.

“I will be - hornswoggled,” Finn says wonderingly. “Alright. Tell her I will receive her in my throne room momentarily. I just need to - where’s my manservant?”

The herald bows and withdraws, and moments later Finn’s manservant comes hurrying in, a cloak draped over his arm, to fuss over Finn until Finn looks properly regal. Finn doesn’t bother with full court finery for days he’s just going to be doing paperwork and sparring, and _usually_ that doesn’t come back to bite him in the ass, but today - well, if he’s going to be facing down _Lady Knight Phasma_ in his throne room, he wants to look as regal as he possibly can. She is - or perhaps was - Emperor Snoke’s right hand, and Finn has _no bloody clue_ what she could be doing in _his_ court, asking for a boon.

When Finn is suitable becloaked and becrowned and looking more like a king than a clerk, he makes his way to the throne room. Lady Knight Phasma is waiting, standing calmly before the throne, in full armor; her helmet is on the floor beside her feet, so at least Finn can see her face, but her expression is so blankly unreadable that it doesn’t help much. The guards around the room are all looking a little twitchy, though. Finn may be the gryffin-slayer, one of the three finest warriors in the kingdom, but even he would be hard-pressed to defend himself against the woman called the Argent Knight, the Merciless. Especially when she’s in full armor and he is _not_. But putting on armor to receive her would be rude, so...here Finn is, with nothing but a doublet between his skin and her sword.

He sits down on the throne, glancing reflexively at the empty one beside him where Rey should be, the empty place between their thrones that ought to hold Poe, and then nods to Phasma. “Lady Knight Phasma,” he says courteously. “Be welcome in my court.”

“Your Majesty,” says Phasma, and draws her sword - and before anyone in the room can so much as twitch, she goes down on her knees before Finn, holding the sword out hilt-first. “I come to beg a boon of you: take me into your service.”

Finn blinks at her, and it’s a good thing he learned to think fast on the battlefield, because otherwise he suspects he’d have been speechless for a good long time. “I do not say you nay,” he says, after only a very brief pause, “but I must hear what brings the Emperor’s hand, the Merciless, to my feet in supplication.”

Phasma nods, not moving from her kneeling position, sword outstretched. Finn doesn’t like to think how much her arms are going to hurt if she holds that pose much longer - but maybe the Argent Knight does not feel pain. “Sire, the tale is short indeed,” she says. “Ten days ago I drank from a fountain blessed by some spirit or another, which had the virtue of breaking all enchantments - so the hermit who lived beside it said. And when I had drunk from it, it seemed to me that a veil fell from before my eyes, and all my loyalty to the Emperor with it, for that he had compelled me by a spell, and no oath of my own making. And I bethought me of the deeds I had done at his commanding, and hated them. So I resolved myself that I should offer my service to a true king, and whether you accept my oath or slay me, I shall wash clean the stains upon my soul in service or in death.”

Finn isn’t sure _what_ he was expecting her to say, but that wasn’t it. And somewhat to his surprise, he believes her. He’s actually drunk from that spring himself, years ago, during one of his first progresses around his kingdom and the surrounding lands. _He_ didn’t feel a veil drop from his eyes, but then, he wasn’t enchanted, so far as he knows. And it is about ten days’ travel away, especially if the traveler doesn’t know quite where she is headed and needs to reorient herself a few times.

“I do not slay those who come before me in peace,” he says at last, “and if you will swear to me, Lady Knight Phasma, on your blood and bone and your immortal soul, to be my faithful knight forevermore, then I shall welcome you as I would welcome any who came to follow me.”

“On my blood and bone and my immortal soul I swear,” Phasma says instantly, “that I shall be your faithful knight forevermore, until death take me; and I shall do nothing which is abhorrent in your eyes, nor fail to do that which is pleasing. Will you accept my service?”

Finn leans forward and places his hand on the hilt of Phasma’s outstretched sword. “I accept your service and your fealty, Lady Knight Phasma,” he says, voice ringing through the hall. “As you are faithful to me, so shall I be to you; as you protect me, so shall I protect you; I will give you no orders which are abhorrent to you, and cherish your life as precious as my own.” It is the oath he gives to all his new knights, and he hears more than one of his guards startle in astonishment, but if Finn is doing this, he’s not doing it halfway. “Rise, Phasma, Argent Knight of my court,” Finn says, leaning back, and Phasma stands and sheathes her sword in a single graceful movement, and waits for orders.

Finn’s briefly unsure what to do with her - he can’t put her in charge of anyone, because there would be immediate mutiny, but also he’s not sure he wants to put her under the orders of anyone, because the potential for disaster is just too high - and then he glances again at the empty throne beside him, the empty place where his Champion stands, and grins. “I find myself in need of a bodyguard,” he tells Phasma.

And then he has the signal pleasure of watching Phasma’s jaw drop. He wasn’t necessarily _intending_ to break her perfect composure, but it’s amusing nonetheless.

Phasma looks _so_ baffled, though, that Finn takes pity on her. “I know that you are one of the finest warriors in the world,” he explains, “and I trust that you meant your oath. My Champion accompanies my Queen when she goes out to ride our lands, and my Queen has told me often that she wishes I had someone to watch my back while she is gone. Will you accept the position?”

Phasma bows deeply. “Yes, my liege,” she says, and there’s deep gratitude ringing in her voice.

“Lovely,” Finn says, and beckons his chamberlain, who has watched the whole interlude with a baffled expression on his face. “Cethriee will find you rooms and help you get settled, and then you can join me for the exciting round of paperwork and meetings which is currently my life.”

Phasma doesn’t laugh, but there’s something about her expression that makes Finn think she sort of wants to.

*

It takes Finn a couple of days to get used to having Phasma behind him like some sort of enormous silver shadow. She’s much taller than Poe, who is the only person to normally take the spot behind Finn’s right shoulder, and while Poe’s armor is lacquered black - Poe is sometimes a rather vain man - Phasma’s is polished to a silver sheen so bright it’s blinding when it catches the sunlight. Finn suspects that was a deliberate choice: it’s very hard for your opponents to hit you when they can’t _see_ you, after all. She’s also alarmingly silent and still, so that Finn will sometimes forget she is there until he moves and catches a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye.

But being silent and still and imposing are _good_ traits for a king’s bodyguard, along with being very good at hitting enemies very hard while surprised, and frankly Finn can deal with the startling presence of his new bodyguard very happily given that on their first sparring practice, she managed to defeat him. It was a close match, but she’s taller and stronger than he is, and while Finn has a very slight edge on speed, it wasn’t enough to keep him from being disarmed. Phasma then proceeded to defeat every one of the knights available to spar with, one after another, while Finn watched. It was an inspiring performance. None of Finn’s knights have given him any trouble about the _skills_ of his new bodyguard. Her loyalty, yes. They’re all dubious about the true loyalties of the Emperor’s former attack dog. Most of them are of the firm opinion that once a traitor, always a traitor, and she will betray Finn in his turn. But Finn’s opinion of the matter is that a coerced oath does not bind, and so Phasma broke no oaths when she left the Emperor’s service. Finn can’t force his other knights to trust Phasma, but he can show his _own_ trust in her, and eventually he’s sure they’ll come around.

It’s three weeks after Phasma has taken up a position as his bodyguard - three long weeks without Rey and Poe, as they travel the length and breadth of the kingdom, sending letters back daily (Finn’s couriers get a serious workout when the Queen is on progress) - that the first assassin shows up. Finn is working on yet another rewrite of a proclamation, trying to get the wording perfect, when a servant comes in with a plate of food and a pitcher of water. Finn’s so engrossed that he barely glances up, smiling at the young man - he doesn’t recognize him, but perhaps he’s new - and turning back to his work, picking up a piece of bread absently.

He _does_ notice when the young man pulls a knife and lunges at him, but though Finn is fast he’s not at his best stuck in a chair with nothing but a slice of bread to hand.

It turns out he doesn’t need to be.

Phasma has the would-be assassin down on the floor, his arm broken in three places and her swordblade across his throat, before Finn can do more than flinch back and bring the bread up in a futile attempt at blocking the attack. The assassin is whimpering, to shocked even to scream.

Finn looks at the tableau for a moment, then sighs and rings the bell beside his chair. The door swings open, and the guards outside hurry in, then stop dead at the sight of Phasma crouched over the assassin.

“Take this man to the dungeons, please,” Finn says. “And then get a surgeon to look at that arm.”

“Yes, sire,” Sir Temmin says, a little faint with astonishment, and he and the other guard haul the would-be assassin away. Phasma stands and sheathes her sword, looking completely composed, not a hair out of place. Just another day, Finn supposes.

“Thank you,” he says to her. _That_ startles her.

“It was my duty, sire,” she points out.

“I can still be grateful for you saving my life,” Finn says, grinning. “And impressed, too. That was very elegantly done.”

Phasma actually _flushes_ a little, just a faint pink stain on her pale cheeks. “Thank you, sire,” she says gruffly. Finn smiles wider and turns back to his paperwork.

He does not eat the bread, though. If there’s one assassination attempt, there might be two, and Finn has no intention of dying by poison.

*

The assassin was sent by the Empire - which surprises no one - and claims there’s someone in the castle who was helping him, though he doesn’t know who. Finn has him taken to the edge of Logres’ territory and dumped over the border into the Wild Lands. There are Imperial patrols there, and if the assassin is lucky, he’ll fall in with one before he gets eaten by a gryffin.

And then Finn turns his attention to the rather more important issue of who in his castle might be working for the Empire. He would lay money - is, in fact, betting his life - that all of his knights are loyal to him, and all of his bodyservants, too, for that matter. His chamberlain would rather die than betray him, and the leaders of his archers and his footsoldiers are as loyal as a summer day is long. His cook adores him. So that narrows things down a bit.

Sadly, the castle requires hundreds of servants - or rather, the king and all his courtiers and knights require hundreds of servants - and not all of them are as personally devoted to the king as Finn’s knights are.

Bother.

*

The second assassin shows up during one of Finn’s open court days, concealing himself in the crowd until he is close enough to draw a thin-bladed throwing knife and fling it with deadly accuracy at the king in his high throne.

Phasma is, of course, wearing full armor; she deflects the knife with one gauntleted hand, and even as it clatters onto the stone floor she is leaping down off the dais into the crowd. People make way before her like the parting of the Red Sea: an enormously tall woman in shining silver armor, naked sword in hand, is _not_ something anyone enjoys seeing coming right for them. The would-be assassin, trapped by the crowd, struggles madly, but Phasma grabs him by the collar and drags him out in front of the whole court, dropping him at Finn’s feet like a hunting hound presenting its master with a rabbit, and puts one booted foot on his back, pinning him neatly in place.

Finn sighs. “So,” he says wearily, “let me guess. You’re working for the Empire.”

“All hail the Emperor!” the assassin says, somewhat muffled by the fact that his face is pressed into the floor.

“Right,” Finn says. “Phasma, give him to the guards, please, and they’ll take him down to the dungeons and see what he knows.”

Phasma obeys, though she does look a little bit like she’d prefer to follow the guards down and beat the truth out of the assassin - which is part of why Finn _isn’t_ letting her do that, nobody gets tortured in his kingdom - and takes her place again beside Finn’s throne. Finn shrugs, looking out over the crowd of courtiers and commoners who are waiting anxiously for the resolution of the little drama. “Well,” he says lightly, “if the Emperor is sending assassins after me, I must be doing _something_ right.”

That earns him a wave of startled, relieved laughter, and Finn beckons the next petitioner and tries to put the incident out of his mind for the rest of the afternoon.

*

“Two assassins is a pattern,” Finn sighs that evening, leaning back in his chair and meeting Phasma’s eyes. She’s still not comfortable sitting around him, but she’s been on her feet all day, and this is a working dinner, so Finn insisted. She’s perched on the edge of her chair, but she is sitting. He’ll count it a victory.

“Yes, sire,” she agrees. “Though neither have been professionals.”

“True,” Finn says thoughtfully. “Which is odd. I would have thought that I would be a sufficiently important target for the Emperor to want to send real assassins after me, not these poor idiots.”

“Perhaps it’s not the Emperor,” Phasma muses. “Perhaps it’s someone wishing to curry favor. They haven’t the clout to get real assassins, but they think if they remove you, they will gain by it.”

Finn nods. “That makes sense. So - an Imperial courtier of some sort, or possibly a minor officer in the army. Someone with a few connections, but not enough to get ahold of the Emperor’s own assassins.” He sighs. “I’d like to catch him - or her, I suppose - before Rey gets home. I don’t want her anywhere near this sort of danger. I know she can protect herself, but…” He scrubs a hand over his face. “On the other hand, if she _does_ get back before we catch this person, she’d probably be able to help a lot.”

“How so?” Phasma asks curiously. Finn quirks a smile.

“She’s got this trick of looking into people’s eyes and knowing their souls,” he explains. “If she goes through the castle, she can probably spot anyone who’s a danger to us. When she’s around, she _does_ spot people who aren’t loyal, and we have them moved to positions outside the capital, where they can’t make trouble.”

“Which means that this person has arrived in the time since your queen left, in all likelihood,” Phasma points out. Finn blinks.

“Now that,” he says, “is a very good point. And a good place to start. Thank you, Phasma.”

Phasma bows her head a little. “My pleasure and my duty, sire.”

*

“Look, I’m just saying, everything points to _her_ ,” Sir Temmin says as he and Finn circle each other on the sparring field. “She arrived while Rey was away, she spent _years_ as the Emperor’s hand, she has _no reason_ to be loyal to you, sire.”

“And if she wanted me dead,” Finn says, irritated, “I _would_ be. She’s behind me every hour of the day, and you know yourself she’s faster than a striking snake. If she wanted to put a knife in my heart, I’d be dead before I knew what happened. She doesn’t want to, and the proof of that is that I’m still alive.”

“I just worry, sire,” Sir Temmin says, and feints left. Finn sighs and disarms his knight, leaving Sir Temmin staggering backwards, then trips him and puts the tip of his practice sword to Sir Temmin’s throat. “And I concede,” Sir Temmin adds. “Your invincible Majesty.”

“You’ve seen Phasma beat me,” Finn points out, letting Sir Temmin up. “And Rey and Poe have both fought me to a standstill repeatedly.”

“You’ve never lost a battle that truly mattered,” Sir Temmin replies, shrugging. “And with the Argent Knight at your shoulder, I suspect you never will. Not to mention your Champion and your Queen.” He huffs a brief laugh. “Pity the Empire when they come for you!”

“Better yet,” Finn says, clapping Sir Temmin on the shoulder with a laugh, “let us pity them not at all.”*

*

The third assassin repeats the first one’s attempt to stab Finn in an unguarded moment, and Phasma breaks _both_ his arms before the other guards arrive to take him to the dungeons. The dungeons have never been so busy before. Finn’s not precisely happy that they’re getting so much use now.

“So we’ve had two servants and one commoner,” he says to Phasma once the excitement has died down. “And the commoner worked for the people who supply soap to the palace.”

“You are sure you trust your chamberlain?” Phasma asks warily.

“He would die before he betrayed me,” Finn says firmly. “But - he is getting older. He might well have taken on an assistant without telling me, not thinking such a matter required my attention.”

Phasma nods thoughtfully. “With your permission, sire,” she says slowly, “may I suggest a small subterfuge?”

“Go on,” Finn says encouragingly.

“Summon your chamberlain, on some pretext, and keep him here a while,” Phasma says. “While he is here, I will go and see if I can find his assistant, should he have one. Perhaps I will know him.”

Finn nods. “Very well,” he says. “There is the feast for my wife’s return which must be planned - I will summon Cethriee to discuss that. You may investigate his assistant while I do so.”

“Thank you, sire,” Phasma says, smiling just a little. “For trusting me.”

“You gave your oath,” Finn says simply.

Phasma shakes her head. “I see why people follow you,” she says quietly. “King of Logres, my life is yours.”

Finn bows his head. “I will not betray your oath to me, Lady Knight,” he says softly. “Nor will I ever doubt your word.”

“My king,” Phasma says simply, “I know.”

*

Cethriee is a fusspot and finicky as a hen with too many chicks, but he’s _very_ good at his job, and he and Finn get the plans for the welcome-home feast hammered out over the course of one long evening. Finn actually manages to forget about the plot he and Phasma hatched in the delight of planning something for his beloved wife. He is rather abruptly reminded, however, when Phasma comes into the room behind two rather startled guards, dragging a young man in castle livery by the scruff of the neck. She drops him at Finn’s feet as Cethriee starts up.

“Mitaka!” Cethriee says, startled and dismayed. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You know this man?” Finn asks. Cethriee nods.

“He is - sire, he is my assistant, hired bare months ago. He came most _highly_ recommended.”

Finn nods, and looks up at Phasma. “And _you_ know this man?”

“His name is Dopheld Mitaka, and he was - until three years ago - General Armitage Hux’s right hand,” Phasma says grimly. “It was something of a scandal at court when he vanished.”

Finn looks down at the man on the floor. Both guards are holding spears to his throat, and Phasma looms behind him like the wrath of god. “Speak,” Finn says quietly. “And tell me true. Came you here to do me harm?”

Mitaka glances over his shoulder at Phasma where she glints in the lamplight and snarls. “Yes,” he says furiously. “The man who slays you will be honored above all others by the Emperor, may he reign a thousand years.”

“I’m not so easy to kill as all that,” Finn says mildly. “Sir Nien, put him in the cells, please. When my wife returns, I will have her question him - she will find the truth of his plots, no matter how deeply he has buried it. Also I suspect she’ll enjoy it.”

Mitaka, Finn is faintly pleased to see, goes quite green. Rey has something of a reputation for being rather less merciful than her husband, after all. She won’t _actually_ do Mitaka any harm - well, any irreparable harm - but she’ll scare him witless, and if Finn can sort of help that along, it’ll make her job easier. Sir Nien drags the man away, and Finn leans back in his chair and looks up at his enormous bodyguard thoughtfully.

“Already you are worth your weight in gold,” he says at last, and watches her lips twitch in amusement.

“I do not think you have that much gold, sire,” she says, and Finn chuckles delightedly at the joke.

“Silver, then,” he says, and nods to Cethriee. “Shall we finish this planning tomorrow, my friend? I am sorry for the subterfuge, but -”

Cethriee raises a hand. “Say no more, sire; it is my dishonor that the assistant I had chosen meant you harm, and your kindness which does not send me to the cells beside him. I will have all in readiness for the queen when she returns.”

“And how were you to know he was our enemy?” Finn asks gently. “But go; I leave the planning of my wife’s welcome in your capable hands.”

Cethriee bows himself out, and Finn gestures for Phasma to take a seat. “Thrice now you have saved my life, and now you have found the traitor in my court,” he says, when she has perched gingerly on the edge of the chair. “You do me yeoman service.”

“My king,” Phasma says, meeting Finn’s eyes squarely, “when you knew nothing of me but my reputation, you trusted my word. When your own speak out against me, you defend me. I could not find another liege in all the world that I had rather serve for all my days.”

“Well then,” Finn says, smiling. “I shall be glad to keep you with me, lady knight.”

*

Rey, when she returns, is delighted for three reasons: first, that there is a hot bath waiting for her, after so many weeks on the road. Second, that her husband waits beside it with open arms, as loving as the day they wed, as beautiful as the summer’s dawn.

And third, that he has found her so _magnificent_ a sparring partner as Phasma the Merciless, the Argent Knight who knows no fear.

What better present for the pirate-slayer than a challenge, after all?

**End Book 3 of La Vie de Finn**

**Author's Note:**

> *line ganked from David Weber’s _Belisarius_ series.
> 
> So, like I said above, this is part three; I'm working on part two. I will be out of town for the next two weeks, so no new fic from me until December, I'm afraid.
> 
> I'm on tumblr as imaginarygolux if you want to drop by!


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